Today's excerpt is inspired by the news this month of the discovery of the Homo naledi bones in a South African cave, and in particular the details about the skinny women palaeontologists who went in through 8-inch crawlways to excavate this incredible site. It reminded my of my archaeology story Ritual Space - which is definitely not erotica suitable for the claustrophobic!
Alex has tempted her archaeology supervisor down into a tight underground chamber with her...
‘Oh … yes!’ hissed Hayden appreciatively. Carved over his head in high relief was a phallus, complete with bulging testes and a clearly defined glans. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a ritual object.’
‘You’ll see that it’s polished smooth compared to the surrounding rock,’ I said, reaching to run my hand gently along its considerable length. Hayden made a noise in the back of his throat and I blushed, withdrawing my hand. Fingertip sweat can cause damage even to stone objects. 'Um. I think it’s been handled a lot by whoever came down here.’
‘Fertility ritual,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The virile member buried deep in the earth to make it fertile.’ He scratched his throat, musing. ‘Or perhaps it’s nothing that obvious. In the pre-Christian Empire the phallus was a good-luck symbol of protection from evil - a fascinum.’
‘I have a theory.’ I was shy but determined.
He turned his head to look me in the eye. We were both sweating a little and breathing quickly in the stuffy air. Only the chill of the stone kept this constricted and intimate space from growing too warm.
‘I think this is an oracle,’ I said.
‘Yes?’ He actually sounded interested. It’s not often a student theory gets that far.
‘Do you remember the description of the Oracle of Trophonius? It’s described as a pit with a narrow hole at the bottom into a deeper passage. Supplicants were pulled in feet-first and granted information about the future though a vision or a voice. And they came out babbling and terrified.’
‘Maybe.’ His eyes are all dark glitter. ‘And the visions?’
‘This is ritual space: anything could happen here. The supplicants would be lying alone in the pitch dark. Keyed up. Hyperventilating because they’re scared and claustrophobic and horny and there’s not much air. Reaching out to touch the protective sigil above them. They’d be capable of seeing things even without priests prompting them.’
Hayden rolled carefully onto his side to face me, his shoulder nearly brushing the roof. ‘Horny?’
I shrugged, thinking that my words had run away with me. ‘Perceived peril makes people more aroused. It’s freshman psychology.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well thank God it’s not just me then.’
I laughed, mostly from tension, and he chuckled with me.
‘So … Did it make you horny, working down here?’ he wondered.
I blushed and ran my tongue across my lips. ‘Sometimes.’ My voice sounded weak. ‘It’s the silence…’
‘Did you ever do anything about it?’
Those eyes would not let me go. I bit my lip and nodded.
‘Down here?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
He grinned, soft and slow. ‘I’m not sure that’s good archaeological practice.’
‘No,’ I admitted. Our voices were very low now.
His face moved closer to mine. ‘I want to know what you did, Alex ... when you should have been working.’
‘Why?’
‘Professional curiosity.’ But the sweep of his lips was a caress described on the air. My skin tingled.
‘I … would sometimes touch myself.’
‘Through your panties?’
‘Sometimes. Or I would pull down my fly and … touch myself properly.’
‘Ah. Were you wet before you started?
’
‘Usually.’
‘Are you wet now?’
I nodded.
‘Show me.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Show me how you did it.’
For moment I just held my breath. Then, hardly daring to think, I lay back and pulled up my T-shirt, revealing a flat stomach glazed with sweat and speckled with grit. Hayden watched entranced as I thumbed open my fly button and tugged at my zip.
‘Left-handed?’
‘Uhuh.’ Pushing down my trousers and panties to my hips, I shimmied out of them far enough to reveal the tufts of hair at the crease of my sex. Softly I touched myself. Hayden ran the tip of his tongue between his teeth. I could hear his breath coming fast and shallow. I could smell my own musk.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, then reached to draw my top up higher, taking my lycra bra with it as he found the thicker fabric, pushing both layers right up to reveal my breasts. They felt cold beneath his warm hand. His fingers moved on my sweat-slicked skin, then withdrew. My nipples tightened, aching for the touch they’d known so briefly. ‘Go on.’
I pushed my fingertip into my own wetness, drawing the moisture up to my clit. I was wet with a fierce, boiling heat. I began to play with myself, watching him watching me, seeing how his eyes swept from my quivering tits to my tilted pussy and back to my face. Feasting on his hunger, on the rapt concentration I’d only ever seen him direct at newly-discovered artefacts before this moment. Under his gaze I felt as if every inch of my skin was alive with significance. My fingertip rolled over my burning clit, back and forth. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew it wouldn’t take me long; I’d been building up a sexual charge since he joined me in the pit. I felt my orgasm heave deep within me, reaching toward the surface, and then he obliged by covering my working hand with his, cupping my fingers and my pubic mound and my wetness for a moment before sliding two fingers deep into me. Already on the edge, I came at once with that first electric clitoral climax; he felt my muscles clench on him, pulsing, as I arched my back and cried out.
The stone roof echoed my voice, distorting it strangely.
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